


The Art of Negotiation

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Community: dw_straybunnies, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-26
Updated: 2011-02-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Earth has been saved from the Nestenes. But UNIT's scientific advisors really aren't getting on with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Negotiation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [dw_straybunnies](http://community.livejournal.com/dw_straybunnies/) [Prompt of the Month](http://community.livejournal.com/dw_straybunnies/19881.html): _The Brigadier in other eras, or other eras with the Brigadier._ Doctors Two, Five, Six and Eight were mentioned specifically.

As soon as the Brigadier opened the door of the improvised laboratory, he knew that his hope had been vain. The day's victory over the Nestene Consciousness had done absolutely nothing to promote harmony between his scientific advisors. As on all his previous visits, he walked in to the sound of raised voices and the sight of angry gesticulation. 

Something, he decided, had to be done to sort this lot out. 

"Quiet!" he shouted, in a voice that would have carried across a parade ground. 

The four other people in the laboratory jumped, fell silent, and turned to face him. 

"Doctor," he said. "Ladies. And you, McCrimmon. Every time I come to this laboratory I walk in on an argument. This can't be allowed to continue." 

"Oh, I agree," Liz Shaw said. There were angry red patches on her cheeks, but she spoke with rigid calm. "It won't. I shall be handing you my resignation in the morning, and be back in Cambridge as soon as the trains allow. You can hardly insist that my presence here is essential any more." 

The Brigadier raised his eyebrows. "That is your prerogative, of course. Might I ask what brought this about?" 

Liz glanced at the other three. "I should prefer to give my reasons in private," she said. 

"Och, so you're saying it's all our fault," Jamie said. "Call me daft if you like, but I can see what you're driving at even if you don't dare say it out loud, ye sour-faced sgoilmeach. What you need's a good old-fashioned–" 

Liz rounded on him. "I don't remember anyone asking for your opinion!" She turned back to the Brigadier. "And how I'm expected to work with some precocious little knowitall constantly trying to pick holes in my doctorates..." 

"I thought you were a scientist," the knowitall in question said, folding her arms. "You're supposed to take an objective view. You need to remember that the state of knowledge has moved on since your day." 

"This is my day!" Liz snapped back at her. "I belong here. You don't." She shot a glare at the Doctor, who had pulled out a spotted handkerchief and was fidgeting with it. "I don't think there's any point in continuing with the current arrangements." 

"Really?" the Doctor asked. "I thought we were getting on rather well together. You were a great help to me." 

"Doctor, I'm not here to hand you test tubes and tell you how brilliant you are. And if you'd kept your mind on the task at hand and not kept rushing off to tinker with that thing" – she pointed at the six-sided console in the corner of the room – "you could have solved the whole problem yourself. I'm not going to stick around here just to keep your nose to the grindstone." 

The Brigadier held up his hands. "Enough." He paused briefly in thought. "I think, bearing in mind that we have defeated an alien invasion, we would be justified in a little celebration. Would you care to accompany me?" 

Liz took a deep breath, wavered, and let it out again. 

"I could use a drink," she said. "All right. But you won't change my mind." 

"And the rest of you?" 

"Well, I think it would be churlish to turn your generous offer down," the Doctor said. "Come along, Jamie, Zoë." 

They left the laboratory, in frosty silence. 

*

The Brigadier sat back in his armchair, sipped his brandy and decided that, on the whole, the evening could be considered a success. Certainly the younger members of the party were now able to talk to each other without raised voices or instant antagonism; if anything, rather the reverse. He'd managed to get a quiet word with Miss Shaw – or rather Liz, as she'd insisted everyone call her – and persuaded her to withdraw her resignation. Not that much persuasion had been needed; she'd agreed at once, saying that she'd never dream of leaving her new best friends Zoë and Jamie. It would, perhaps, have been better if she hadn't followed that by giggling and spilling what was left of her drink, but it was the thought that counted. 

That still left the Doctor, of course. The Brigadier glanced at the little man, who was sitting in the opposite armchair, nursing a brandy of his own. 

"Do you think your young friends will be all right?" the Brigadier asked. 

The Doctor nodded. "Oh, I think so. Compared to what they've faced in the past, a night on the town shouldn't be too risky for them." 

"They did seem a bit, ah, elevated. Especially Miss Heriot." 

"Yes, I'm afraid Zoë isn't very used to wine. Still, Liz knows her way around – she'll keep them out of any serious trouble." 

"Always assuming she doesn't get into trouble of her own. I think she was rather taken with young McCrimmon." 

"Jamie?" The Doctor looked as if the idea had never occurred to him. "Oh, surely not. Yes, he's got a kind word for all the ladies, but I really don't think–" 

"Well, I'm sure you know best." The Brigadier set his glass on a side table and leaned forward. "It can't be easy for your friends, finding themselves in a time that isn't their own, with nothing but the clothes they stand up in." 

"I suppose not." The Doctor considered the matter. "But I daresay they'll get used to it in time. They're still young, you see. They'll find their places in the world, or make their own." 

The Brigadier paused before asking the next, crucial, question. "And you, Doctor?" 

"Yes. Me." The Doctor drained his glass. He had, the Brigadier noted, been by far the heaviest drinker of the party, and the liquor had had no more effect on him than water. "That is the point, isn't it? My travelling habit isn't just a matter of months, or even years. Compared to all the things I've seen, a single world can only be a prison. I'm sorry, Brigadier, I know it's your home. That doesn't make it mine." 

"I know how you feel." 

"Do you?" 

"I think so. I was deployed in British Honduras. Shipped out to some godforsaken base in the back of beyond, with nothing but jungle for miles in all directions. Certainly felt like a prison to me, at least at first." 

"Yes, I see. But your situation wasn't quite the same, was it, Brigadier? You knew why you were there, and when you were due to come home. And you had your duties to keep you busy." 

"Doctor, I don't think you're going to have any trouble finding things to do. Even if there isn't another alien invasion tomorrow, you'll probably be tinkering with that contraption we found you with." 

"Well, of course I will. You don't mind, do you?" The Doctor's face took on a cunning expression. "If you don't want me cluttering up your nice laboratory, I could come to an arrangement with somebody else. Maybe Professor Watkins would be interested, or Professor Travers." 

"Or maybe you'd get kidnapped by someone like our old friend Vaughn. He'd have been interested in your skills, wouldn't he? Working for us, you'd have a certain amount of protection." 

"Yes, I do see your point. What else can your organisation offer me?" 

The Brigadier considered the matter. 

"I take it you'll want facilities to repair your machine. Accommodation, too." 

"Yes, I suppose we will need that. And of course we'll need to eat." 

"That shouldn't be a problem. I'm afraid I can only offer you a modest salary, but you should find the work interesting." 

A smile spread across the Doctor's face. "Then I think I may be minded to accept." He bounded to his feet, clasped the Brigadier's hand, and shook it. "Yes, that could work out very nicely." 

"I hope so." The Brigadier rose to his own feet, thinking of what tomorrow might bring. The attempted Nestene invasion had left the country in chaos, the Prime Minister was demanding explanations, the in-tray on his desk was bulging with dubious reports of alien activity, and he fully expected General Scobie to show up at some point demanding to know why he'd woken up at dead of night in a display of waxworks. 

But now he knew he had the Doctor at his side, he felt a little more confident in the future. 


End file.
